


Jump in the pool

by devera



Category: Saiyuki Gaiden
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, mate guarding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devera/pseuds/devera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dragons are strange, but when the King of the Western Seas busts Kenren out of jail, Kenren learns that that's not even the half of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jump in the pool

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Week 1 challenge at [weissvsaiyuki](http://weissvsaiyuki.livejournal.com/): Frenemies etc. Departs a little from Gaiden canon but can probably be thought to reconcile with it further down the track in general narrative terms.
> 
> Also, please be assured this is not predominantly non-con, although that's where our story starts.

He's been in the military long enough to know two things - one, grunts at ground level will use just about any excuse to try and get their wick wet. A good commander will direct this particular sordid fact of life in a more or less healthy direction, because if he doesn't he ends up with a court-martial list a mile long and that's if he's lucky. Men on the front lines need an outlet, and they'll find it whether you give them permission or not.

Two, the ones a little higher up the chain of command are the ones to watch out for. Absolute power might corrupt absolutely, but a little bit of power also tends to go to most people's heads in the pettiest of ways. You pull 'em up out of the rank and file because they like bossing other people around and because they're good at laying down the law and dishing out the grief, but unlike the ground level guys you've got to watch them a little more closely because give someone who wants power a taste and then give them free reign with it and they'll use and abuse it every time.

So he's not really surprised at this development. After all, a prison is like a platoon. There's a clear hierarchy of authority, and the rules hold only so far as the man in charge is actually in charge. Or in this case, actually cares what happens to Kenren's ass while Kenren's in his jail. 

By the way the four of them fan out around him, ugly smiles on their faces in the half-gloom of the cell, he figures he's got about five seconds to decide how he wants to handle this. No one knows he's here, no one's coming to get him. It'll be at least a few hours before Tenpou even thinks to look for him, and even longer before he can maybe get enough support together to bust him out. Neither of them are all that popular in the courts, and this is a political attack as much as a personal one. Litouten knew exactly what he was doing throwing Kenren to these wolves. The only thing that surprises Kenren is that he isn't here to watch while they tear him to pieces.

Small mercies, maybe, but Kenren will take them where he can.

So, he can make a song and dance out of this, in which case when Tenpou does get here he'll probably have to bring a stretcher, or he can let them do their worst and maybe walk out under his own steam. It's not much of a decision, because Tenpou is going to be pissed anyway; if he's going to have to be visiting Kenren in hospital, pissed probably won't even begin to cut it.

So, it's option B then. He can't say he likes it, but he's only got himself to blame for being here and he'd accepted the consequences when he'd gone and opened his mouth to the Jade Emperor anyway. He eyeballs the bastard closest to him. They've shut the cell door behind them, so they're at least not as completely stupid as they look, and the big one looks the least stupid of the four of them, so Kenren thinks he's probably looking at the leader. Too easy, he thinks. What kind of fucking amateur torturers send their big gun in first anyway?

"Well now," he says with a sneer, flicking his gaze up to the big guy's face and then deliberately down to - yeah, just great - the semi-interested bulge in the guy's pants. “That for me, or should I just kick back and wait for a bigger response?”

Want to skip the dumb macho posturing and the uninspiring exposition on what they intend to do to him? Pick the biggest, meanest guy in the group and then tell him he's got a little dick. Works every time.

“The fuck?” one of the others says in astonishment, and Kenren quite carefully doesn't laugh. “Hey, he can't talk to you like-”

“Shut it, Kan,” Big Guy snaps, glaring down at Kenren with a sneer of his own, hands on his hips like that's going to make him any bigger and uglier than he already is. “You gonna make this easy or hard?” he demands with a grunt. “We're happy to oblige you either way.” He pretty deliberately doesn't bother with the 'Sir', despite his obvious rank, but that's okay; Kenren already understands how this is going to go. He looks around the group, giving them all the same look he just gave Big Guy's cock. 

“If you think you ladies can get it up,” he taunts, “you're welcome to try.” 

"The hard way then," Big Guy concludes, like what he's about to do is some kind of fucking imposition. 

Of course, that's exactly what it is, just not for anybody but Kenren.

+++++

They take turns hitting him for a bit. It's no worse than anything he's gotten before, and only two of them actually hit anything worth a damn. Of course, the other two make up for that, and pretty soon he's gasping and curled around himself and hoping to hell his ribs are just bruised and not in fact cracked. And when one of them grabs the back of his trousers and shoves him over and face down in the dirt of his cell, he's laughing too.

“Looks like the fun's over then, huh?” he manages in the brief, possibly disconcerted pause.

“Nah,” the one he's dubbed Limp Wrist drawls, and tugs him up roughly by his waistband enough to get a hand under him and on his belt. “Fun's just starting.”

Kenren laughs again, an ugly sound. “Knew you'd say that, you predictable little fuck.”

Somebody hits him again for that, a nice hard right down cross that bounces his head against the ground and sets lights sparking in his vision for a bit. By the time he's with it again, they're dragging his trousers down, the air cool on his ass and their grubby, grabby hands clammy on the backs of his thighs as they force him into position on his knees. He grunts when Limp Wrist shoves into him, screwing his eyes shut against the raw flash of pain that tears up his spine, then forces them open again and twists around to slam an elbow viciously into the little prick's face. 

It doesn't dislodge him, and Kenren hadn't expected it to, but it makes him feel a bit better. Of course, that makes the other three idiots realise he's not as docile as the beating intended him to be, which means they're on him two seconds after that, holding him down so Limp Wrist can recover from the blow enough to start fucking him properly. Kenren grits his teeth and tries not to make any more noise than he absolutely has to while the other three laugh and egg Limp Wrist on.

They're not egging for long, because Limp Wrist has the stamina of a freshly minted virgin, apparently. Small mercies again, Kenren thinks blackly as the thrusting goes uncoordinated and jerky and Limp Wrist gasps while the others make comments Kenren doesn't bother to listen to. He's focused on breathing and not hurling at the sudden, less than pleasant sensation of being a hell of a lot more lubricated. He's deliberately and savagely not thinking about that feeling in different circumstances, with other people, people he likes, people he _wants_ , because that's not this and he refuses to make the association. It's bad enough these assholes are turning perfectly good porn dialogue into a laughable parody - he likes it, he's such a slut for it, he's going to get another cock to fill him up real soon, blah blah blah. 

Fucking amateurs, the lot of them. Professionals don't bother with rape. A real professional would have spent five minutes with Kenren and known to come up with something better, something a lot more effective and closer to home. A professional would have tried to fuck with his head, really mess him up and take away all the things that he holds inside, that help to prop him up. These idiots think this is the worst they can do to someone. They might have been right if that someone wasn't Kenren.

“What?” he pants, grinning, although they can't exactly see his face. “You done already? Man, that was so fast I hardly noticed. You know, you can get drugs to fix that, yeah?”

The others laugh again. Nice that he's entertaining them. Limp Wrist wrenches himself away, or maybe he was pushed because there's already someone new in his place, and this is about to get both better and worse.

“Shut up, bitch,” growls the one Kenren's been mentally referring to as Flea because he seems to have a brain the size of one. “That was just the warm up.”

Before he's even finished talking, the other guy Big Guy referred to as Kan has a hand in Kenren's hair and is wrenching his head back and fumbling his fly right in Kenren's face. Kenren can smell him from here, the musk of his arousal and the acid stench of his sweat and that, he decides, is the fucking line. 

He tilts his head up further, forcing the movement against the grip in his hair - which, yeah, hurts but relative to what - so he can lock eyes with the bastard and make sure he has his attention when he says, hard and cold, “You put that in my mouth and promise I'll fucking bite it off.”

Kan pales, staring at him like he doesn't know what to do with that, but Kenren can absolutely guarantee the one thing he's not going to do is feed Kenren his cock, because Kenren does not make idle threats and even on his hands and knees in a deep, dark jail cell, everyone knows that.

“Leave it,” Big Guy says finally, amusement colouring his voice. “Get those manacles on him instead, yeah? He's gonna need something to hold on to in a minute.”

The guy behind him slips rudely out when they start dragging Kenren forward across the floor to the wall and the chains hanging there. Fucking. Amateurs. Kenren figures it’s his moral duty to show them where the fuck they’re going wrong, twists and kicks, fast and with as much force as he can manage. His bare heel connects with something fleshy and wet and Flea fucking _howls_ in response, and then Big Guy's hitting him again, once, twice, like he really fucking finally means it now, and Kenren can feel blood gushing down the side of his face and his ears are ringing and he splutters out a cough which under better circumstances would have been a laugh, because shot in the fucking dark there but he just kicked Flea's nuts clear into next week.

“They got,” he gasps as the three of them drag him up against the cold hard wall and force his arms up and clamp the manacles around his wrists while Flea keeps howling and rolling on the ground. “They got drugs for that too. Oh wait, no they don't.”

By the time they get him chained up and hit him a few more times for good measure, Flea's curled on the floor, fetal-like, pants around his ankles and hands around his junk. Everybody else just stands there staring at him like they've never seen an inside-out hard-on before and are somehow afraid it might be contagious.

“Fucking fuck,” Big Guy sighs finally, sounding more aggravated than sympathetic. “Great. You stupid fuck. Gods, get him up.” He motions to the other two, who are switching between staring at Flea and looking with renewed wariness at Kenren.

“But what about...”

“Fun's over,” Big Guy grunts. “For now.” He gives Kenren the stink eye for a second before turning back to the others. “Get Ling to the medic, see if they can save his god damn gonads. We can come back and finish with this fucker later.”

“Be looking forward to it,” Kenren snarls, trying to shift himself into a position where his ass and the floor don't have to interact for a while. “Kick your balls in too, if I can find 'em.”

Looks like he's a lot less entertaining than he was five minutes ago, if the way they ignore that is any indication. Chances are, when they come back, it's probably going to be better prepared and probably with more guys. If Kenren isn't out of here before then, he's probably a dead man. He watches as they scoop up Flea, who's toned it down to animal sobs now and honestly it's a wonder he's still conscious. Big Guy is already out of the cell, Limp Wrist and Kan carrying Flea between them, and when Kan pauses, Kenren licks his lips and watches him and wonders exactly how much more he's going to let them take.

But all Kan does is reach down and scoop up Kenren's discarded uniform pants, which he then tosses at Kenren with something approximating not discomfort but guilt. Kenren doesn't flinch as they land in his lap and he doesn't say thanks and Kan doesn't nod at him in apology or any such shit, but it's maybe suddenly a little obvious that including Kenren there was maybe two people in this cell in the last half an hour that didn't really want to be here.

Kenren files that away for later and waits until the cell door is shut and locked behind them and they're all long gone before he begins the painful, awkward process of getting back into his clothes.

+++++

He must have passed out at some point, because the last thing he remembers is the agony of trying to stand long enough to get his trousers up, an effort of impressive contortionism considering the length of the chains holding him to the wall. A distant thud - the slamming of a door, he realises as he jerks back to awareness - makes him wish he'd maybe not been quite so provocative earlier. Big Guy and his pack of jackals are on their way back. He can hear the clear, steady sound of boot tread coming down the corridor, and it's too soon, he thinks. He’ll fight them, but it’ll be a pathetic shade of his earlier defiance, he knows, and for the first time he feels a thread of true fear, slumped there against the wall with his shoulders aching and his head and ribs throbbing and his ass sending burning knives of easy agony up into his guts. It’s just his body, he tells himself. They can do whatever they hell they like to it, but it’s not the part that matters.

And then his visitor steps into the light and he's not sure whether to thank his stars or curse his damn luck.

“Hey,” he drawls after the first few moments of genuinely speechless surprise, and his voice has sounded better, steadier. He hopes he doesn't sound relieved, but he wouldn't bet on his chances. “Here for the grand tour?”

Lord Goujun, Dragon King of the Western Seas, stares at him for a long, silent moment. Kenren's pretty sure it's with mild disapproval, because that's how Goujun always looks at him.

“I always believed you to be a fool,” he says finally, darkly, that strange, underlying hiss of the speech of a dragon king only marginally softening his words. “I did not suspect until now how inadequate a descriptor 'fool' in fact was.”

Kenren huffs out a laugh, because only a dragon king can insult you in a way that makes you want to reach for a dictionary.

“Yeah, ain't I a peach?” he jokes, feeling stupidly daring, like he's got nothing more to lose, but Goujun just stares at him some more.

“I am your commander,” he points out, and really, Kenren has no idea whether he’s saying that’s a good thing or a bad one. Maybe good, since it’s punctuated by the turn of a key in the lock of his cell door. The door swings open and then Goujun is stepping gracefully inside and for a moment Kenren wants to tell him to get out again, because he's too white, too pure, for this gutter. 

“If you had presented your case to me instead of directly to the Jade Emperor,” Goujun continues, “I might have been able to help.” The 'not now, idiot' part of that sentence seems to go without saying, but Goujun doesn't seem to expect an answer. He steps up to Kenren and then bends like a willow and his cool, delicately scaled fingers brush the raw skin of Kenren's wrists and then the manacles around them pop open like magic under his touch, one after the other.

“Wouldn't have changed anything,” Kenren sighs, lowering his arms and gritting his teeth at the burn of circulation returning. “I had to say something. No one else was going to, and Merciful Gods, Commander, he's just a little kid.”

“You cannot help him if you are dead,” Goujun reminds severely, and then seems to give the argument up as pointless. “You have been harmed,” he observes, and this close, Kenren can see his nostrils flare as if he can smell- Hell, he probably can, this close, and fuck knows it’s got to be unpleasant.

“Nothing permanent,” Kenren dismisses with a nonchalance he actually doesn't feel, because this close to Goujun is something Kenren tries not to get and right now, with those eyes staring at him unblinking, he's making Kenren feel more uncomfortable than four guys with their dicks in his face ever could.

“Perhaps,” Goujun agrees. “But this is an unforgivable offence.” He doesn't say whether he means personally or just legally, and in fact Kenren’s not actually sure which act he’s talking about and is suddenly too exhausted to even try and work it out. “And I will not allow you to return to your Commanding Officer in this state. You will accompany me. Are you able to walk?”

Kenren stares, and then swallows and nods. Shit. Tenpou. Tenpou is going to go off the deep end when he finds out about this. If he hasn't already.

“Yes, Sir,” he says, and Goujun looks at him oddly for a moment before hooking his hand gently under Kenren's arm and helping him carefully to his feet. Kenren's actually got no idea whether he can in fact walk out of here on his own or not but it's either that or have the King of the Western Seas carry him and he's pretty sure rescue from incarceration is as low as Goujun will be willing to go for an insubordinate idiot like Kenren. Or at least, he really doesn't want to push his luck. He's going to need all he's got left for Tenpou. 

++++++

The next several hours of his life are bizarre to say the least. Goujun walks him out of the prisons - there's for some reason not a soul about - to a waiting carrier and helps him crawl inside before flicking the curtains closed without a word. Kenren collapses gratefully into the satiny, fragrant cushions, too tired to even be worried about all the blood and muck he's probably getting everywhere, and tries to imagine he's on a boat on a lake somewhere Down Below, just lying there, half awake, with no cares in the world as the water gently carries him to.... 

Well, Goujun's personal suites, apparently, because when the carrier stops and the curtains are pulled aside again that's where he is, inside what has got to be Goujun's personal rooms. The entry hall is big, austere in that its lined with an almost translucent marble, lavish in that the only other colour present is the floor, a vast space bigger than the Ant's mess-hall, covered in opalescent blue.

Kenren stares, taken aback at the echo of his daydream just right there in front of his face like that, and then flinches as Goujun sweeps into his field of vision like some kind of wave. Activity ripples out from the epicentre he creates, bursts around him in his wake; staff hurrying into and out of the main doors, commands - or what Kenren assumes are commands, since he's never learned a word of dragontongue - snapped left and right until three of the staff, strange, fragile little creatures with glittering scales, sea green eyes and indeterminate gender – break out of formation to descend on him and gently draw him out of the carrier and into Goujun's apartments as the dragon king disappears somewhere ahead. 

Kenren lets them lead him. Frankly anything else is just too much to take in. It's bad enough that the details of the more intimate interiors of a dragon's home are passing him by in a bit of a blur. Maybe he hit his head just a little harder than he realised. He has no idea how many rooms he's gone through, or even in which direction, and he doesn't recognise the purpose or function of even a fraction of what he sees, until they finally stop and then it's suddenly easy again, because he's standing in front of what he is utterly convinced has to be the biggest bath house in Heaven. 

He's given about five seconds to appreciate the sight, and then he’s being stripped (again, but with a great deal more respect this time) and prodded into the bath. The water is perfect, warm and milky and smelling faintly of seaweed and brine and maybe musk. It’s a weird combination. He’s not sure if he likes it, but then again he’s pretty sure he doesn't hate it, and shudders as he eases down into it and it instantly starts to work its magic, calming abused nerves and strained muscles. He barely even notices when the attendants start touching him, delicate fingers patting at the cuts and bruises on his face and combing through the dried blood in his hair. Their attention is so soothing, so non-intrusive, and the water is so warm, that Kenren is asleep again between one breath and the next.

++++++

He wakes with an aborted flinch to the firm, gentle pressure of a hand squeezing his shoulder, takes a breath, opens his eyes, finds he’s still in Goujun’s bath. He doesn't know for how long he slept but the attendants are gone and he feels soft like rice paper, like he could just dissolve. The water is still perfectly warm.

“You look somewhat restored,” murmurs the Dragon King, releasing Kenren to skirt the edge of the pool and lower himself to a cushioned seat opposite. He’s changed out of his uniform and into some kind of house gown that looks soft and loose and comfortable without seeming to sacrifice any of the elegance dragons are generally known for. It opens to his waist in a gentle gaping v, exposing snow white scales and a slightly strange musculature that Kenren’s not sure he’s supposed to be looking at. He jerks his eyes quickly back up to Goujun’s face and hopes to hell Goujun either didn't notice his momentary slip or doesn't actually care.

“Yeah, much better. Uh, thanks,” he says awkwardly, suddenly acutely aware of where he is – naked and submerged in Goujun’s bath in his private rooms. Is there some kind of protocol for something like this, he wonders? He should probably have listened to Tenpou a bit more closely when he’d had cause to lecture him on the known behaviours of dragons.

Goujun inclines his head in acknowledgement. “I have informed the Marshall of both your location and your status.”

Kenren pushes himself up a bit straighter in mild alarm at that announcement, and then hisses when his weight on his ass on the bench he’s sitting on lets him know in no uncertain terms that he’s not nearly as recovered as he feels.

“And?” he asks, his voice coming out a little croaky. “Fuck, please tell me you ordered him not to do anything stupid.”

Goujun seems to smile at this without actually moving his mouth.

“Marshall Tenpou was – how would you term this, General? – _well pissed_ at the news.” Kenren almost chokes on air at the sound of that coming out of Goujun’s mouth, but Goujun does not seem to pay him any mind. “I did in fact expressly forbid him any action. He did not appreciate the order. However I am content for the moment that he will not do “anything stupid”.”

Kenren feels a little dizzy with relief at that. Tenpou’s not reckless, not like Kenren, but he’s still water, and the things that lie below that surface are surprisingly, sometimes frighteningly, volatile.

“Good,” he sighs. “Good. This shouldn't be on him. This is on me. I opened my big mouth, I got what I deserv- uh? Commander?”

Goujun is on his feet again, shockingly fast, no visible transition between sitting and standing, and while there is nothing in his expression to suggest something that Kenren just said offended him, the air in the bathhouse suddenly feels tighter and much, much cooler.

“You will be examined by my private physician before departing,” Goujun tells him, his voice leaving utterly no room for objections. “I will have a fresh uniform provided with your examination. Then you will eat and leave.”

Kenren blinks. “Uh, okay. Yes, Sir.”

A tiny, almost imperceptible crease appears between Goujun’s brows for a moment before smoothing away again. He nods.

“As you were, General,” Goujun says, voice soft again, and then turns and stalks out of the room, the hem of his robes stirring the air around Kenren’s shoulders as he passes.

++++

So, yeah, weird couple of hours. The physician appears not long after that, while Kenren is wrapped in a huge soft towel (hey, maybe dragon scales are more sensitive than anyone suspected?) and gingerly perched on the cushioned seat Goujun vacated. Another dragon, this time much more obviously male, although he seems far more human than anyone else Kenren has met so far, enters the room and speaks softly to him, telling Kenren what he will do and asking express permission before he does. Kenren bears the mild indignity of his gentle, clinical examination and then gets dressed in the uniform that was brought in for him – not his, but it fits perfectly – and listens to the physician's medical advice and tries, ridiculously, not to blush.

After that, he ventures outside the bathhouse to find another servant waiting. This one has scales the colour of sand and hair the colour of sea foam and eyes like stormy skies, and smiles at him and gestures for him to follow. He (She? It?) is beautiful in an entirely alien way, somehow untouchable, much like its lord and master, Kenren thinks. Not that it matters. There’s no way in Hell Kenren would ever consider putting the moves on a member of Goujun’s personal staff, recognisably female or not, mostly because Goujun would probably eviscerate him if he tried. Since the Dragon King is behaving in a way that amounts to outrageously friendly for him given their interactions to date, Kenren really doesn’t want to do anything to upset him. Also, it would be ungrateful as a guest considering everything Goujun’s done for him, even if he doesn't quite get why? He’s definitely not going to look this gift horse in its mouth.

He follows his new guide to the – dining room? Kitchen? It’s hard to tell. There’s something that looks like a cooking pit, but there’s also cushions and rugs and a large low table. Frankly, Kenren can’t see Goujun eating somewhere like this, so maybe it’s for the staff. The idea makes him relax a little, which is when the smell hits him and he feels the bottom of his stomach drop out because sweet Mercy, whatever that is smells delicious.

His guide parks him carefully on a pile of cushions in a corner and then proceeds to bring him more food than he’s pretty sure even all the Ants could eat. It doesn't talk to him, but he can almost hear the matronly urging in the way it hovers, watching him, smiling as he reaches for the next dish and damn, if Goujun eats like this all the time, why isn’t he less cranky? 

By the time he’s done, meaning he can’t possibly force down another bite and he might be mistaken for Hotei from the side, there’s three more dragons loitering in the kitchen, gathered in the doorway on the opposite side of the room, watching him with large, luminous eyes and murmuring softly to each other in their own tongue. He’s pretty sure they’re giggling at him, so maybe he’s some kind of novelty? After all, how many gods does Goujun normally let follow him home like some kind of kicked -

Kenren blinks as the realisation hits him properly. Clean, patched up, rested, fed, his brain is finally working the way it should and holy shit, Goujun took him home. He put him in his bathtub and gave him clean clothes and fed him and checked on him. Like he actually cared. Which can’t be right, right?

Kenren must have screwed up way, way worse than he realised.

++++

The suspicion persists long after he leaves the Dragon King’s suites. Tenpou gives him one long look when he arrives back at HQ that says things Kenren’s not sure he wants to hear, and then puts him on light duties for the rest of the week in a tone that sounds a lot like Goujun’s had when he’d told Kenren to submit to a physical – not… angry, but tight, clipped, maybe even unhappy. Kenren figures he’s in the doghouse and flips Tenpou a smart salute and turns and walks back out again before Tenpou can change his mind and tear him a new one like he looks like he wants too. 

They don’t speak much for the next couple of days after that. Tenpou seems lost in work, and Kenren is careful not to make too much of his presence, figuring Tenpou just needs a little time to cool down and that he’s probably getting off lightly. But it’s not just Tenpou treating him a little differently. People he barely knows start stopping him in the halls to ask how he is, to tell him they think he’s doing good work, or, on one bizarre occasion, invite him to dinner. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they actually disapproved of how he was treated, but of course, that’s ridiculous because they’d have to actually have an opinion for that to happen. Maybe it’s just the colour of his face. It’s not that bad. The bruises have faded to a nice, sickly green, and his ribs only give him notice when he attempts anything too strenuous, but apparently just the sight of it is enough to make most people stutter their words a little bit or frown in this vaguely disapproving way that he doesn't quite understand but seems to be seeing a hell of a lot more often lately.

Of course, he couldn't give a shit what they know and he doesn't dwell on what happened because that would be pointless. Sure, he dreams, for the first couple of nights at least. His psyche taking a little time to work through stuff. Whatever. Predictably they’re fairly unpleasant - faceless men holding him down, pain, and on one bizarre occasion, Goujun standing on the other side of the bars, face impassive but eyes blazing. Kenren wakes in a sweat after that one, heart racing, and can’t remember what freaked him out more, the men raping him, the Dragon King watching them, or the murderous fury in his face. 

Getting a little less sleep than he’d like is the least of his concerns though. You wouldn't think there’d be much damage control necessary in such an efficiently run machine like the Western Army, but then again, the other armies perhaps don’t engender quite the same brand of loyalty, and after the first two incidents – relatively harmless fights between some unidentified Ants and some of Litouten’s guards – Kenren sits his people down in barracks for a chat. No one will give anyone up, but Kenren has his suspicions, and all good intentions aside this is not the kind of retaliatory attitude he wants in his troops. So, talk, yeah; one he never wants to have to repeat and which goes something along the lines of - _Yeah, I ran into the Minister's door. No, there wasn't any permanent damage. No, I don’t care what any of you heard, or how many of them the rumour mill says there were, I hear about any reprisals, anything that even smacks of payback subtle or otherwise and everyone, and I mean everyone, will be on notice with docked pay. Am. I. Making. Myself. Clear? Good. Now, thanks for your concern and let’s go have some chow._ It’s best to nip these things in the bud before anything escalates, regardless that he feels oddly warm and fuzzy deep down inside at how idiotically protective his men apparently seem to be. 

It takes about a week for all the excitement to more or less die down. What can he say, Heaven’s gossip mongers are only interested when the news is fresh. The latest dish on the plate, when it inadvertently reaches Kenren’s ears, is however something that pulls him up short and then has him turning on his heel and just about running back to West HQ, and God damn it if Tenpou's disappeared on one of his unscheduled trips Down Below, without telling him, Kenren is going to be seriously pissed.

But Tenpou's right where he's supposed to be at this time of day, and he looks up from his paperwork in unfiltered surprise at Kenren's abrupt entrance.

“General?” he enquires carefully after a full minute where Kenren just stands there staring at him.

“Tell me you didn’t do it,” Kenren demands on a rush, but Tenpou only blinks at him.

“Do what?”

“The guys,” Kenren says and there's something sharp and queasy clenching in his guts. “The four guys that- Last week. Litouten's guards.”

Tenpou's expression hardens, cold and unforgiving. It’s a look that Kenren never saw before last week, but he’s been seeing it a lot lately in relation to this not-thing that they haven’t even talked about.

“What about them?” he demands, artificially calm, his hand too tight around the quill he's holding.

“They're-” Kenren starts, surprised to find he's shaking a little and that he can't seem to stop. “Gone. Disappeared. No one's seen them for three days. They haven't reported for duty, they're not in their quarters, they're not anywhere.”

Tenpou however seems genuinely surprised by this news. Fuck, he didn't know. He didn't do it. Somehow, the relief Kenren feels is immeasurable.

“You don't say,” Tenpou says finally, slowly. “Ah. Well.”

Kenren suppresses the urge to vault the desk and shake Tenpou violently. “Ah well _what_?”

“You haven't talked about it,” Tenpou says instead, quietly, and places his quill carefully back in its base. “I assumed you didn't want to.”

Kenren sucks in a breath at that. No, he didn't want to.

“When Goujun came to me and informed me of what happened, my first thought was… well, I’m afraid it was rather more personal than it might have otherwise been, had almost anyone else been involved. My second thought was in relation to Litouten's continued existence- Well, I’m sure you can imagine.”

Kenren’s swallows, trying not to, thanks.

“The olfactory system a Dragon possesses is remarkably sensitive, did you know?” Tenpou continues, a conversational non-sequitor Kenren did not see coming and takes a moment to catch up to. “They can identify the presence of someone by scent for sometimes hours after they've gone. They can smell blood miles away. They can tell whose blood it is. Just by being in the same room, the Commander knew how many and who and the exact nature of Litouten’s _hospitality_.” He snarls it like there isn’t a word bad enough for what he’s trying to express, and then fixes Kenren with a significant look. “And when I asked for their names, he refused to give me them. He in fact expressly forbade me any kind of retaliatory action at all. He said that he would see to the matter personally.”

Kenren feels his mouth fall open dumbly.

“So, I believe I will confess to wanting them gone, whoever they were. Possibly in the most painful way possible. But I'm afraid whatever has happened to them is unfortunately none of my doing. Does that answer your concern?”

“Y- Yeah,” Kenren says on a shaking breath, and since his knees suddenly feel a little like water, he stumbles his way into the chair in front of Tenpou’s desk. “Fucking hell. Why would he- I mean, he doesn't even _like_ me.”

“Dragons,” Tenpou says, leaning back in his chair, “are also incredibly territorial. This territory, for Dragon Kings, is not merely about physical space, but also the subjects that inhabit it.” He leans forward again, resting his arms on the desk and holding Kenren's shocked gaze, his eyes intense, heavy, like iron. “The Western Army, but most significantly, those men who stand under its direct command are included in that sense of territory, and that means you, General.”

“Oh,” Kenren breathes. “That’s. Um. Nothing personal. Right?”

Tenpou looks at him then like he’d just called the Kannon a “babe”.

“Of course,” he agrees smoothly and unnecessarily sarcastic. “Because the King of the Western Seas would have taken such aggressive action against a dangerous political snake like Litouten for anyone. Kenren, I think you already know the answer to that question.”

And the problem was, he thought maybe he did.

“He- I mean, it's a message?” he asks, a little hoarsely, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that maybe, just maybe, Goujun the-opposite-of-hates him and that he maybe also offed four guys under someone else's command because they hurt him.

“Certainly,” Tenpou allows. “Do not fuck with what’s mine, or words to that effect. As I said, I in no way disapprove. In fact, I’m a little annoyed he didn’t involve me.”

Kenren slaps a hand over his eyes and groans faintly. “Fucking hell,” he breathes. “This is insane. I don't have the resources to worry about both of you.”

“He’ll never be connected to anything.” Tenpou, perhaps kindly, does not comment on the fact that Kenren _is_ worried. “And his position in court isn’t so unstable as to be threatened by unfounded accusations, and not by the likes of Litouten, regardless of the power he currently holds. But it’s also no great secret he had you released from jail and escorted you from the premises, so his… personal involvement is a rather public declaration on several levels. To anyone with the sense to recognise it, at least.”

Kenren peers out from between two of his fingers at that, spidey sense tingling because the way Tenpou said that, “declaration”…

“Are you…” He drops his hand and stares at Tenpou’s slightly smug, expectant expression. “What are you saying? No. No you did not just mean to imply that- that what? That if he wasn’t a dragon, he would have sent _flowers_ instead?”

Tenpou looks like he wants to laugh. “Oh, hardly that. Flowers after all would be understating things.”

“No,” Kenren repeats. “Hahahaha. _No_. He hates my guts! He thinks I’m insubordinate, undisciplined and not fit to shine his shoes, let alone polish his- No. You’re wrong. You’ve finally cracked. I thought it might happen someday, but I-”

“You had his scent all over you, the day you came back.”

“- never thought- Wait. I what? No I didn’t.”

“Kenren,” Tenpou says gently. “Trust me, you did. I’ve been working for him long enough to recognise it.”

“But I.” Kenren can’t- When did things stop making sense, and how did he miss the memo? “I just. I mean, how?”

Tenpou looks at him in amusement. “I don’t know, General. You tell me.”

Kenren wets his lips. His mouth is weirdly dry. “I mean, he busted me out and, uh, took me home and put me in a bath and-”

“Ah,” Tenpou says meaningfully.

“It was just a bath!” Kenren objects.

Tenpou smirks. “That’s where you’re wrong, Kenren. It’s difficult to translate, but it’s more akin to a rejuvenation pool. Its waters are a mixture of certain grades of natural oils and hormone secretions and other herbal compounds with healing properties. It’s a very personal space. The lower castes usually maintain such pools for their entire clan, but for the noble classes it’s restricted to the immediate family and partners. For a King, well, I couldn’t even begin to guess with whom Goujun shares such an intimacy, if anyone.”

Kenren blinks as that sinks in. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’m afraid I’m not.” Tenpou looks like he’s enjoying this way, way too much, which is entirely not fair in Kenren’s opinion.

“So, what do I… What do I do?”

Tenpou looks at him evenly. “What do you want to do?”

“I-” Kenren starts, and then realises he actually has absolutely no idea, which is apparently obvious enough that Tenpou picks up his quill again, far more relaxed than he was when he first put it down, and goes back to his paperwork like this is just an average conversation on an average day.

“Then I suggest you work that out first, Kenren,” he says mildly. “I find a good place to start is often the palace library. If you take the sub-tunnels, no-one even has to know you were there.”

Kenren stares at Tenpou a couple of beats longer, then figures the conversation is well and truly over and that was, as much as Tenpou ever bothers with one, a dismissal. For a second, as he climbs out of the chair and circles around it in the direction of the exit, he wonders what the hell he’s going to find out in a library about being courted by a _dragon_. But then again, he realises, it’s probably the only place to start. Better to know what he’s getting into, if he does indeed intend to get into it.

“Try under ‘D’ for dragons,” Tenpou calls after him, laughter in his voice, and Kenren gives him the single finger salute without looking as he lets himself out of the office and closes the door on Tenpou’s amused laughter.

Or, he thinks, better to know whether he even has a choice.

+++++++

“Okay,” Kouken pants in Shouei's direction. “I’ll bite. What the hell is up with the General today?”

They’ve been training hard since almost first light, manoeuvres they know backwards, hand to hand techniques they already excel at, weapons training, field drills, laps around the training grounds. No-one’s complained, not yet. No-one would, because they know well that this is what keeps them alive down there – General Kenren’s ability to push them past their own limits, to expect more than they can give and get it. But today it’s like the General is trying to run them into the ground and him along with them. In fact, now that Shouei looks, really properly looks, he might amend that thought to ‘him first’. Kenren is messier, sweatier, than anyone and he still looks like it’s not enough. There’s something vaguely wrong about that, considering the bruises he’d been sporting a week ago have only just faded. The sight of more now, on his face and bare arms and naked back, settles something heavy and discomforting in the pit of Shou’s stomach. 

“Don’t you think,” Ensei butts in from Shouei’s other side, “that maybe it’s about _that_?”

Shouei looks at him, not sure he likes someone else saying out loud what they’re all thinking. They all know what ‘that’ is, of course, the thing that doesn’t get talked about even if it’s understood - that what happened to General Kenren wasn’t just a beating. Talk gets around, even inter-army gossip. Somebody in Litouten’s guard said something to someone else, and that someone else told someone else, and so on until it reached the ears of the Ants and in hindsight it’s probably a good thing the General ordered them to pull their damn heads in when he did, because if they’d been left to decide what to do about what they’d heard… Well, anyway, that’s not something that anyone talks about, but it’s hard not to think about it, what with the General and Marshall both up in front of an inquiry panel for the last two days about the disappearance of four of Litouten’s guard, guard that just happened to hold positions in the prison administration and who happened to be on duty when Kenren was imprisoned and who, as far as he’s heard it, last reported for duty exactly three days after Kenren was released.

“What?” he snaps, perhaps a little unfairly but he can’t help it. “You think after that big speech about “everything’s fine, no one does anything in retaliation or else” he went and did it himself? It’s more bloody likely that the Minister offed them so they wouldn’t talk. And it’d be just like him to drag the Marshall and General Kenren in front of an inquiry in the process. Two birds, one damn stone.”

Ensei frowns at him and spins his boken expertly over the back of his hand, like showing off like that actually helps him think.

“Good point,” Gakuryou agrees, coming over to join them on their unofficial little break. Kid’s got a cut just above the line of his brow where he must not have ducked fast enough. Okay, so maybe they can use the practice. Shouei himself will admit to having been a little slow here and there too, and has the bruises to prove it. “But surely they realise that if the General was going to do anything, he wouldn’t have done it in secret? That’s not who he is.”

Everybody nods sagely in agreement to this.

“Marshal Tenpou might have,” Kouken says quietly, slowly. “But I doubt he did. Everybody knows how close they are. To gank those guys so soon after what happened, that’d just be plain dumb. And he definitely isn’t dumb. A little rash sometimes, but not stupid.”

“Yeah,” Shouei says. “But somebody sure as hell did it, and I wish to God they had let me help.”

There’s a murmured round of “hear, hear” from the others, no less vehement for being under their breath, and Shouei is thinking that maybe he should start a little investigating of his own – after all, soldiers will always talk to other soldiers - when he feels something ripple across the training yard and looks up to see-

“Holy shit,” Kouken says softly, right before General Kenren’s voice rings out across the yard.

“Atten _tion_!”

The Ants move as one, a single, sharp shift from whatever they were doing to backs straight, heels together, facing forward; a beat, and then a smart salute that Goujun, Commander of the Western Army, Dragon King of the Western Seas, acknowledges with a brief, sharp salute of his own as he strides over to where the General is standing.

“Holy shit,” Kouken repeats out of the side of his mouth as he drops his arm. “What’s he doing here? He never comes here.”

“Please not an inspection,” Gakuryou mutters and Shouei only just manages not to laugh, because everyone knows exactly how much non-regulation food Gaki’s got stashed in his kit.

“I don’t think it is,” Ensei breathes, as Kenren throws them an “As you were” and turns briefly away from his commander to scoop up a towel and start pressing it to the sweat smeared across his brow in an attempt to look a little more presentable. That in and of itself is a little strange but as Shouei watches, something even weirder starts to become apparent. He looks around him, to see if any of the others have noticed but most of them seem to be back to their combat routines and Shouei's the only one still watching.

It’s impossible to hear what they’re saying to each other of course. Too far away, and the King gives away nothing in his expression or demeanour, but he's standing just a little bit closer than Shouei would have thought decorum dictated, and General Kenren is... His body language is odd, off, turned towards the dragon king but at the same time turned away, almost like he wants to run. He's clearly not meeting the dragon's eyes, unusual for the General, but it's not like he seems afraid or ashamed or anything like that. It's something else, something Shouei almost recognises…

And then, as Shou continues to watch, the Commander leans in slightly, subtly. Everything about his posture seems suddenly liquid, sinuous, like he's the next breath away from transforming. Shou's heart suddenly jerks into double time at the sight, because he doesn't understand what he's seeing, except he does, somehow. The two of them suddenly look like they're saying a hell of a lot more than they were a second ago, and none of its verbal, and it's almost like the General's body has finally decided which it wants to do, and it's not run. 

“Didn’t the Commander get asked to appear in front of the inquiry too?” Ensei says abruptly, from right beside him and Shou jumps and snaps his head around. He hadn't even realised Ensei was still beside him, and is he seeing this? Does he know? “You don’t suppose _he_ was the one who…”

It's almost too much to process at once, and yet things seem to suddenly click into place next to each other, fit perfectly like they'd always existed like that, and Gods Above and Below, if it's true...

“Yeah right,” Shou snorts and shoves Ensei gently away, back towards the others. “And I'm Kanzeon's handmaiden. Seems to me too much time to think leads to the kind of trouble we can do without.” He raises his voice so the others can hear him as well. “Wild Duck formation, people, come on.” He raises his boken and points it at Kouken accusingly. “Because _Kouken_ always tries to lead.” 

Somebody follows that up with something that sounds a lot like “Only when Haku lets him”, and Shou figures it was probably Gaki since Kou jumps on the kid, gets him in a head lock where his feet barely touch the ground, and starts giving him a noogie to end all noogies. That of course means the rest of them start in on the both of them, and the whole battle practice thing degrades into a free-fall all tousle until Shou can only get out of the way and hope to god it looks from a distance like a legitimate melee.

++++++

Kenren had thought a hot shower in the barracks locker rooms would set him straight, but then again, he'd thought running himself and the Ants into the ground would also sort him out. Neither has been terribly effective, and to be honest he lays the blame for that entirely at Goujun's door. All he'd needed was a day or two, just to process. It wasn't too much too ask, surely. He slumps down on the bench behind him and leans over to start lacing his boots, perhaps a little too strenuously in the hopes that it will give him something else to focus on, but it doesn't and he curses himself and Fate and all manner of hopefully listening gods under his breath as he loops the laces around the eyelets on his right boot.

Tenpou’s suggestion of research had done absolutely no good last night. He should have known. The table of contents of the first book he picked up - _Dragons: A modern socio-sexual study_ \- alone had been enough to make him break out in a cold sweat, a sweat that had returned promptly when he'd seen Goujun striding towards him this afternoon, white uniform coat billowing around him, his limbs long and lean and strong, his unblinking eyes fixed on Kenren's face like they were stuck there. 

He'd thought he'd been getting a pretty decent cardio workout today, but the Sixteen Battle Forms of Fu Xi had nothing on the appearance of a dragon king who apparently the-opposite-of-hated him, and in hindsight, he probably didn’t hold it together all that well. Considering all he could think about while Goujun was standing there was in fact the half dozen words of Chapter 5 ( _Mate guarding – social and physiological habits_ , in point of fact) he’d read, which had possibly been half a dozen words too many and had sent him running for his apartment and the last bottle of his New Moon sake he’d been saving for a special occasion, it perhaps wasn't that much of a surprise that his usual cool had clearly not been present and accounted for. You try standing within three feet of someone you’d recently learned wanted to hold you down and, well, do things that probably weren't legal, or at the very least moral, and keep your cool. Particularly when you'd also even more recently learned that you were possibly willing to let them, and that the idea had in fact left you sprawled on your couch in your living room, the dregs of your sake spilled all over the floor with your hand inside his jeans, head spinning from the fastest, most shocking orgasm of your life.

But worse than even that, that Kenren has discovered in a less than twelve hour period that he’s apparently got kinks that not even he knew about, is the fact that Goujun must have known, must have sensed it or scented it or something. He’d been acting strange, standing too close, watching too intently. Kenren doesn't even remember what he'd said to him now. All that space on the practice ground and he'd had felt trapped, like a butterfly in a jar, and that had only seemed to serve to bring Goujun closer still, until Kenren could practically feel his presence like a layer all over his skin and it was hard, really hard, to think about anything other than what it would be like, him, Goujun, the things in that book that a part of Kenren still isn't sure he wants to think about sober. 

There's really only one conclusion to come to. He's screwed, seriously screwed. Tenpou finding it funny yesterday should have tipped him off as to the magnitude of how screwed he is, but he'd still been trying to wrap his head around the idea that Goujun was somehow interested. In him. Romantically. Or, Gods Below, sexually. It isn't his fault that had taken a little while to sink in. They had a history, after all. He sassed Goujun, Goujun stared disapprovingly at him and threatened court-martial. Sure, without ever actually doing it, but Kenren had always figured that was just because he kept getting distracted with more important shit. Apparently maybe not.

So, screwed. And he has no idea what he's going to do about it.

There's a noise from the other side of the locker room loud enough to distract him from his minor panic attack, and he looks up to find his Second Squad leader watching him with a look on his face that rings all the wrong kind of bells in Kenren's head.

“What?” he asks, but he's pretty sure he totally shot past casual and unconcerned and slammed right into snippy and impatient. Thank fuck the rest of the Ants aren't around any more because too many of them are sometimes a little too quick for their own good, and damn it, Shouei's the quickest of them all.

“It's just...” Shouei starts carefully, which is not like him at all really, and it makes Kenren stop tying his boots long enough to sit up and look at him. “You looked happy. While he was here, I mean. I haven't seen you look like that since Li-fen.”

Kenren blinks. Li-fen. Hell, he hasn't thought about her in a long time.

“I didn't know you knew her,” he says mildly, and goes back to lacing his boots. 

“Before I got posted here, I was stationed with the South's Division Two.” Shouei moves across the room and sits down on the bench next to him, a respectful, friendly distance away, and suddenly Kenren understands.

“Ah,” he breathes. “Well, it wasn't like we were hiding it.”

Shouei breathes out a laugh. “Not back then. Look, General...”

“Kenren,” Kenren interjects. “If you're about to say what I think you're going to, you should probably call me Kenren.”

“Kenren,” Shouei allows, and Kenren can see in his peripheral vision his hand grip the edge of the bench between them. “Even if fraternisation regs were that closely observed, he's the Commander in Chief. No-one short of the Jade Emperor is going to tell him who he can and can't... entertain when he's off the clock. Besides, most people think he'd have to post Tenpou to an outlying region just to get a dinner date.”

“Most people,” Kenren repeats, just resting his elbows on his knees and staring at the floor and trying to reconcile the fact that he's getting what amounts to a relationship pep-talk from his second Captain. “But not you.”

“Sir,” Shouei says, almost sympathetically, lapsing back into his normal forms of address, “I hate to break it to you, but you're really not that subtle. If there was something going on between you and the Marshall, we wouldn't just be looking at a few rumours. But if it makes you feel any better, I'm the only one who's noticed. Most of them think it's about the inquiry.”

“It's not about the inquiry,” Kenren hears himself saying.

“No, Sir,” Shouei agrees. “It didn't look like it.”

“Hell,” Kenren sighs. He's going to have to do something about it, isn't he. It'd be awesome if he knew just what.

“Did I ever mention, Sir, that I was transferred to Division Two on secondment from the Western Administration?”

It seems like a complete non-sequitur, and Kenren turns his head to look at Shouei again, who is instead busying himself with leaning down to zip up his gear bag in preparation to leave.

“Four generations of my family served the Kings of the Western Seas, did you know? I've known Commander Goujun since before I could walk. He looked happy too.”

And with that parting salvo, Shouei levers himself to his feet, hefts his bag, gives Kenren’s shoulder a companionable squeeze and slips out of the locker room, leaving Kenren alone to digest that little piece of information, like a hand grenade with the pin pulled.

“Hell,” he says again. 

+++++

He supposes he should consider it the least of his worries, but, as he discovers walking the quiet way back to his apartment in the Western Administration, it in fact isn't. He's half way across the derelict Forum of the Nine Resemblances when he realises he's no longer alone, and that whoever is hiding in the columns' shadows obvious isn't looking to stop him to ask for directions.

"Great," he says to himself out loud, stopping in the middle of the space because the way his luck has been running lately, he's probably going to need it. "This is all I need. Okay, well, you'd better come on out so we can get this over with."

Seven guys slip out of their hiding places around him and, well, that's a little more than he expected but all right, he can improvise.

"Let me guess," he drawls, looking around. "Friends of Huang and Co., right? Want to settle some kind of score?" Of course, they could just as easily be a hit squad sent by Litouten. Not that it matters either way. "I suppose you're not going to accept that I had nothing to do with their disappearance?" Nobody moves a muscle and Kenren nods to himself and subtly shifts his weight into a more ready stance. "Okay, well then, I just want to point out: there's no cell and no chains and no holding back!"

He doesn't realise until he says it how much rage has been lurking inside him, a jagged, ugly thing that makes him want to hurt people, and these morons will do just fine. He hurls his gear bag before the last words are even out of his mouth, at the guys on his left. There's nothing much in it except dirty clothes, but it serves as enough of a distraction as he launches himself right. When his fist connects with someone's jaw, it's with a thoroughly satisfying fleshy crack - the guy's jaw, not Kenren's knuckles - and he feels himself smile, a rictus of righteous fucking fury finally given its freedom.

Then it's on, and at least if Litouten sent them, he sent his best trained men. They already know you can't engage with more than three at once and they take it in turns, stepping in and out of each others' attack zone like dancers changing partners. He takes a couple of good hits, no time to absorb the pain, sees an opening, puts one on the ground with a low roundhouse and follows up with a punch while he's down that knocks the guy out cold.

Which is when the knives come out.

Kenren eases back a little from the prone body on the ground in front of him, his rage quenched by the sight of six foot long, broad blade, short guard, non-military issue knives. It's not fear, it's a sudden bout of pragmatism. The thing about hand-to-hand, Kenren likes to remind his men on an almost weekly basis, is that when you're a trained fighter facing another trained fighter response is equal to attack. It takes more concentration to not kill someone than it takes to kill them. Killing someone is easy. 

And if just one of these idiots comes at him with one of those knives, the first thing he's going to do is take it off them. Then he's going to kill them with it, because cause leads to effect, defence to attack in a natural, unstoppable flow of events that his body knows with far greater efficiency than his mind.

He doesn't want to kill these guys. Things in Heaven are already balanced on a wire and if he kills them, it could tip. He has no desire to find out what follows if that happens. Of course, neither does he desire to be chopped up into little pieces, so what he has to do is the only thing he can do.

None of them are expecting it, but they're trained even better than he realised, because he doesn't get more than four steps when something flashes in his peripheral and he twists in mid-step, turning aside. What he can only assume was a knife spins past him, a deadly projectile passing close enough that he can feel the air parting around it. Another flash, but this time the blade is still in hand, and Kenren feels it part skin instead, a cold, calm caress across his bicep that could be a surface wound or could be down to the bone for all he knows. His arms still works though, because it follows through, twisting under the blade and the extended arm of his attacker so the heel of his hand can connect with collarbone. He feels it crack, his opponent grunts in a breath, and the knife clatters to the ground.

No time to worry about it. There's another opponent almost inside his guard on the other side, and Kenren senses the knife coming at him before he sees it, realises it's slightly longer than the others, already knows before it happens that he's not going to get out of the way fast enough. He drops his weight, twists, raises his guard to deflect it towards his shoulder instead of his head and-

It's like an underground explosion goes off. The ground of the forum shakes; literally, he can feel it through the soles of his boots, and the air around him thrums in response, a metronome so loud and heavy that it makes his ears hurt, makes him feel like a mountain is suddenly pressing down on him. He struggles to stay standing as something white flashes past him, something massive and going in the wrong direction, towards the enemy, not away. He feels the drag in the air as it passes, and then his opponent, the one who a second ago was looking pretty on track to kill him, goes flying through the air like he's been launched.

And then Kenren looks and sees, and this can't be happening, it can't possibly be real.

A dragon cuts through the air like a serpent in water, sinuous and beautiful and terrifying, and all hell breaks loose. Kenren can only stare, feel his heart thudding too hard and fast in his chest, knees shaking, light in the forum bleeding out at the edges, but it's over before he can even drag in the next laboured breath, six guys lying still on the floor. The creature twists towards him, an impossible writhing mass of muscle and scale and claws and teeth and red, red eyes, but hazy though the thought is, he's not afraid, not of the dragon.

And not of the dark that swells up to claim him.

++++ 

He becomes aware of his surroundings slowly enough that putting it together somehow comes as nothing of a surprise. A bed (not his own), comfortable and spacious with satiny sheets, a room, white, with high ceilings and ornately carved architraves. Doors on the opposite side, huge, closed. He's alone, naked, but the sheets cover him tidily, and when he turns his head to look, there's a robe folded neatly on the table by the bed.

So, not a dream then. That really had been Goujun.

Right, well then. Rescued twice in almost two weeks is a little of a wound to his pride, but all things considered he can probably live with it. And quite frankly he's got bigger problems. This can't go on.

Resolved at least on that, if not quite what he's going to do about it, Kenren flicks the sheet back and pushes himself up, and if he'd had any reason to believe he'd imagined things the reality of his collection of bruises - damn it, the last lot had only just faded too - aches and pains serves to anchor him. On a whole, he could probably be feeling worse, and his most serious wound, the blade he took to the upper arm, is bound neatly and cleanly. He can feel the skin warm and tight underneath the wrapping but he can still move his arm enough that it can't be too bad.

Even so, he favours the other arm, reaching for the robe and pulling it on as he puts his feet on the floor and climbs out of bed, tying it secure as he crosses the room to the doors and pulls them open. As he expected, there's a member of Goujun's staff standing outside in the hall. He can't remember if he's met it before, but he'll apologise later if he has to.

"I'd like to see him," he tells it, and it at least doesn't try and pretend it doesn't know who 'he' is. It nods and turns and starts walking off down the corridor. Kenren pulls the bedroom door shut and follows.

Again, he has no idea where they are in relation to anywhere else, and after a half dozen twists and turns and doors, he's utterly lost, until he realises he recognises the door at the end of the archway they're walking through. Goujun's bath house, and there, finally, the lord and master himself, lounging in the pool looking for all the world like he has actually fallen asleep.

Kenren stops and stares for a full minute, feeling a little like he had in the presence of the dragon's other form - knees unsteady and heart thudding - but Goujun cracks one eye open and then waves briefly in dismissal. Kenren already knows it's not directed at him. Behind him somewhere, the doors swing quietly shut.

"I had hoped you would sleep a while longer," the king murmurs, closing his eyes again, and his voice is a low, distant echo of what Kenren now realises was a dragon's roar that shook the foundations of the forum earlier. "This is no venue for an apology."

That takes Kenren by surprise. In a week of surprises of the kind that he's had, that's really saying something.

"An apology? For saving my bacon again?"

"For imposing upon your person," Goujun corrects. "I have discovered I am... not quite myself, lately."

"You don't say," Kenren murmurs, less concerned with the statement than what's going on behind it, and it's impossible not to move a little closer, as if by proximity he can unravel what is not being said. "Well unless you took advantage of me while I was passed out, I'm pretty sure there's been no imposition. You didn't, did you?"

Goujun opens his eyes again, this time to glare, so at least some things haven't changed between them. But other things have, and that's why Kenren decides that he might as well stick with tradition and just jump like he normally does. So while, Goujun is still glaring, he lowers his gaze and reaches for the tie on his robe, tugs it undone and drops the robe to the floor at his feet. Then he steps up to the edge of the pool and steps down into it.

It's reassuring when Goujun doesn't say anything, or at least, Kenren figures inviting himself into a dragon king's apparently private rejuvenation pool hasn't yet overstepped his bounds. He's up to his thighs in the warm, milky water when he finally looks back up again, but Goujun's look has transformed into something sharp and intense and fixed on Kenren like an arrow upon its target. He feels a jolt go through him at it, feels his heartrate kick, and forces himself to keep moving into the water despite the fact that he feels in that second like he in fact ought to run instead.

"Do you have any notion at all of what you are doing?" Goujun demands finally. There's something tense and constrained in his voice, but it's not outrage. 

"I think," Kenren says slowly, swishing his hands gently back and forth through the water as he draws gradually nearer, "that I have some notion, yes." There's a part of him that senses if he makes too sudden a move, Goujun will spook, and that'll be the end of it, whatever it is.

"I find that difficult to believe," Goujun disagrees, his expression dark. "You are insubordinate, thoughtless and frustrating beyond comprehension, in my experience."

Kenren just grins. Goujun hadn't made that sound like a bad thing.

"But you like me anyway, right?"

"What this is," Goujun says severely, "is not 'like'."

"Yeah?" Kenren challanges mildly. "What is it th-"

Kenren had known Goujun could move fast - dragon, after all - but even so, the speed with which he surges out of his place, grabs Kenren and literally throws him against the edge of the pool is shocking and completely unexpected, and the only thing possibly saving Kenren from more cracked ribs is the cushioning effect of the water as it sloshes up over the side with an impressive splash. As it is, he probably has another bruise to add to the collection, but then again, Goujun has one hand pressed against the back of Kenren's neck and his body is, holy shit, pressed up against Kenren's in one long, warm, heavy line, so that's probably the least of his concerns.

"Oh," he gasps, spluttering a little water out of his mouth. "That's what it is."

"Foolish, provocative, reckless," Goujun is continuing under his breath, as if by listing Kenren's faults he will convince himself of something altogether different even while his hands clench hard on Kenren's body. "You insist on baiting me."

"Maybe," Kenren grunts and tries to shift under Goujun's weight, admittedly more to feel the details of that body behind him then any desire to actually get away. Goujun looks lean and angular from a distance, but he _feels_ like he's made of nothing but muscle, and it's currently moulded to every plane and curve of Kenren's from his shoulders to his knees. Where his hips cling to Kenren's ass, there is pressure, but not the sort that Kenren expected. He rolls his own hips back into it, a smooth, covered weight pressing between his ass-cheeks, and the strangeness of it makes his stomach clench in a not completely unpleasant way. "Have I caught you yet?"

"You-" Goujun begins, sounding both shocked and grudgingly amused. His hands unclench and then slide like liquid down Kenren's back and sides. Even without Goujun's weight pinning him, Kenren doesn't even think about doing anything other than rolling himself into that touch. "Perhaps I was mistaken. You might understand what you are doing."

"I did a little light reading," Kenren confesses, somewhat breathlessly.

"Ah," Goujun says. "Marshall Tenpou."

Kenren almost laughs at that. "Can lay claim to some of the blame, yes," he says, and boldly - because when has he ever done anything in any other way - slides and twists and turns in Goujun's hold until he's finally facing him. This close, he can see the minute scales that pepper the dragon king's face, delicate and translucent and so incredibly beautiful. He lifts a hand to slide a thumb across the jut of Goujun's cheekbone and looks him in the eyes and says, "But not all of it."

If actually asked, Kenren would have said he'd had no idea if dragons kiss, but now that he's doing it, kissing Goujun gently and slowly, a little bit permission, a little bit statement of intent, it's obvious that they do, or at least Goujun does. There's no hesitance as he kisses back, and his mouth is mobile and ridiculously soft and his hands on Kenren circumvent his hips to relocate to his spine and slowly, carefully, press Kenren forward.

Kenren takes the cue happily. He wants to climb Goujun like a tree, but this steady, imperative press of their bodies together derails the idea and he instead hooks his arms around Goujun's neck, tangles his hands in his damp, unbraided hair and opens his mouth. Goujun's tongue is immediately there, and Kenren is pleased that he didn't have to issue any more of an invitation than that, because just the feel of it, weirdly flexible and flickering across his teeth and twisting around his tongue is... Gods Above, he could probably reach Kenren's tonsils with it, and what else can it do, and where? The possibilities are suddenly so disturbing and hot that the sound Kenren makes is wholly involuntary.

Goujun draws away, his hands snaking up and down Kenren's spine for a moment from the dip between his shoulder blades to the small of his back, all his attention seemingly focused on the sensation of skin under his hands. Kenren sighs.

"I'm not much of a reader though," he offers eventually, letting his hands trail from Goujun's shoulders to splay across his chest. His nipples are small and pale pink and when Kenren slides fingers across them Goujun makes a sound in his throat that Kenren, at any other time, would have called a purr. "I prefer to learn through experience."

"Truly," Goujun remarks and Kenren must be rubbing off on him in more ways than one, because that almost sounded like sarcasm.

"Yeah," Kenren grins. "Wanna teach me a lesson?"

Goujun actually rolls his eyes at that, but there's also a smile playing subtly at the corners of his mouth and Kenren wants suddenly and feverishly to see it come to full bloom.

"Your remarkably terrible innuendo," the dragon king tells him mildly, "is killing the mood." Of course, his hands are now bracketing Kenren's hips, his thumbs massaging firm circles against the bones, nails scraping lightly into the dips in a promising, dangerous way that makes Kenren shiver, so he can't be that put off by Kenren's bad trash talking and Kenren's not above calling him in on the fact.

"Is not," he challenges, and slides his hand down Goujun's abdomen below the surface of the water to the bulge he felt pressing against him a moment ago. The effect is immediate and comprehensive; Goujun's breath leaves him on a faint, rushed exhale and his hands clench on Kenren's hips hard enough to leave more bruises, ones that for a change Kenren actually wants to have. Kenren presses a little more firmly, now that he's pretty sure what he's doing, or at least that he's having the effect he wants, and Goujun utters a noise more approaching a growl than a purr. The sound travels like electricity up Kenren's spine.

"Come on," Kenren breathes, leaning forward to place a slow gentle kiss upon Goujun's slack mouth. "You want it. I want it. Let's just skip all this dancing around. It's getting tir-"

The sentence cuts off on another surprised breath and hello edge of the pool again. Okay, so green lighting Goujun is also a submission cue, it seems. Kenren can work with that.

"If you think," Goujun says roughly against the shell of Kenren's ear, pressed up against Kenren's back again in all the best ways, "my behaviour has been intrusive up until now, when you only _smelled_ like you belonged to me..." He stops and actually scents Kenren, shoves his nose against the back of his neck and inhales heavily. And then he licks and the rough, sinuous sensation sends Kenren up onto his toes and pushes the breath from his lungs. "... then you have not done enough reading. Dragons do not mate easily nor lightly, in this or any other form."

God and all his attendants, Kenren is not going to ask, he is _not going to ask_. He doesn't even want to know if it's possible, if Goujun wouldn't kill him in his true form if he tried to- if they-

"You saying this is it for playing the field?" Kenren gasps and he can't not writhe in Goujun's hold, his body trying to communicate his permission, his want, for anything, _everything_ , in the only way it knows how even while his mouth is running its own show.

But Kenren's writhing is only interpreted as trying to escape; Goujun shifts to pin him even harder, leg pushing between Kenren's thighs, body pushing Kenren up and out of the water a little against the edge of the pool so that Kenren is forced to brace himself. 

"I am saying that as it stands right in this moment, I would not kill those who do you harm. I will not be inclined to make that promise should you continue on this thoughtless course."

"Holy fuck," Kenren breathes. The idea shouldn't be this much of a turn on, but it really, really is, so much so he can barely even form words. "That's fine. It's fine. You can- I mean, I want- Goujun, please."

Goujun growls again, louder this time, and Kenren doesn't know whether it's the sound that makes him shudder or the feel of Goujun's teeth against the back of his neck, biting him, holding him down. It's not hard, but there's promise in it, warning not to move, even while Goujun rocks his hips against him and, fuck, that bulge Kenren had been feeling up before isn't a bulge any longer, it's Goujun's firm, long cock and it's pushing against Kenren's asshole with absolute intention. He can hear his own aroused, panicked breathing; this is going to hurt without preparation, but he says _yes_ anyway, with everything he's got.

And then Goujun is biting him harder, pushing into him. The dual sensations make Kenren's eyes roll back in his head but it's not the kind of tearing agony he actually expected, just an inarguable, suffocating penetration that feels like it keeps going and going and going. He can't move, can't drop his head or angle his hips or anything. He can only hang on to the edge of the pool and pant through the invasion, and he's never been more turned on in his life.

Until Goujun starts to thrust.

Later, he'll wonder how it works. He might even actually ask. But right now the only thing he knows is that Goujun's cock is suddenly pressing with impossible accuracy on Kenren's prostate and it's staying there. As Goujun moves, slowly at first and then more and more deeply, the pressure ebbs and flows and hot feeling flares in maddening pulses through Kenren's groin sending spark after spark up his spine. He gasps on the first thrust, and then grunts on the second, and then starts making sounds on every thrust thereafter that in pretty short time can probably be heard at the front gates, and he can't even feel bad about it. He's so hard he feels like he could punch a hole in the pool wall, and the he thinks if Goujun just keeps that up a little bit longer, he'll come without even being touched. It's like riding a storm; tossed and turned and made tender by sensation and all he can do is hold on as Goujun's strokes become rougher and faster, his growl vibrating in the lowest registers of his voice, his breath gusting harshly against Kenren's skin. 

The feeling when Goujun comes is like nothing Kenren has ever experienced before, a kind of unsettling swelling inside him that doesn't leave him even as Goujun slowly, carefully withdraws, starts nuzzling against the throbbing mark at Kenren's nape, licking carefully like an apology or an overly large and contented cat. And then he grips Kenren around the middle, turns him and lifts him up and out of the pool like he weighs nothing, pushes him down on his back, places a hand on his stomach and presses. That sensation of strange fullness makes Kenren pant and squirm for a second until Goujun grips his hip with his other hand and leans over him and goes down on Kenren's aching erection.

Embarrassingly, or perhaps understandably, Kenren feels that bizarrely sinuous tongue slide down and twist around him, too tight to be anything other than alien, and then he's coming with a shout. And Lords Above, Goujun swallows, his mouth sucking whimpers out of Kenren until he's shivering and panting from the overload of pleasure. He only stops when Kenren starts pawing in uncoordinated desperation at him and manages to smack him in the ear, at which point he eases off and raises his head and actually smiles at him.

"Fuck me," Kenren breathes shakily, staring and feeling his face heat as he realises that the book wasn't kidding when it said dragons were sexually a little different to other people. "Did you- Is that going to happen _every_ time?"

Goujun raises an eyebrow and practically smirks at him. "This?" he asks, his hand reaching down between Kenren's legs so his fingers can brush against the- Actually, Kenren's not sure he wants to think about it, but Chapter 5 had at least prepared him somewhat; it just hadn't mentioned it would feel so... seriously strange. Or make him want to moan every time he moves. "It's easy enough to expel," Goujun continues matter of factly. "It is of course designed to maximise the chance of reproduction with a female, but I dare say there's no chance of you conceiving, so we can attend to it as soon as you would like."

A laugh leaves Kenren's throat in a burst of near-hysterical air.

"No, I dare say," he agrees. "So, every time then. Wow. Well, I didn't think this thing with you was going to be pedestrian, at least."

"Come," Goujun says, moving to climb up out of the pool and reaching down to help Kenren to his feet. Kenren gasps as the plug shifts inside him, finds his knees doing that thing again where they're not so crazy about holding him up and figures considering that whole 'I'll kill anyone who touches you wrong' thing Goujun was alluding to before probably allows for Kenren to cling to the guy at least a little bit without further sacrificing his sense of independence.

"Would you like me to carry you there?" Goujun asks mildly and it's only when Kenren looks at him sharply that he realises that he's being teased.

"As long as it's not far," Kenren tells him loftily, "I think I can walk."

He's rewarded with another smile, graceful acknowledgement and private amusement rolled into one. 

"As you like. At least allow me..." he says, and bends at Kenren's side, straightening again with a robe in his hands, not Kenren's; that's on the other side of the pool. He places it around Kenren's shoulders slowly and with a great deal of care, smooths it down gently, and Kenren watches him wonders if it would be at all inadvisable to kiss him again.

And then he realises, inadvisable probably never has and never will apply to him when it comes to the Dragon King of the Western Seas, so he lifts up a little and places a kiss on Goujun's mouth, and when he's done and standing back again, the dragon king blinks at him, and then smiles.

"I sense," Kenren announces, "an interesting and possibly positive change to our relations. What do you think?"

"I think," Goujun says indulgently, and briefly and somewhat possessively strokes a hand down Kenren's face, his eyes fixed for a moment upon his mouth, "that that entirely depends on whether you are able to keep yourself out of trouble."

Well, miracles have been known to happen, Kenren thinks. Especially in Heaven. And after all, Goujun is holding his hand as he turns and leads him from the bath house. Considering their usual level of hostility, that probably counts as the first.


End file.
